cracked bottle of emotions

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i have a little cousin who's always happy. always smiling. that little girl is always loud and cheery and energetic and always teasing anyone.

never once did i see her cry.
never once did i see little droplets of salty tears stream down her cheeks as her nose became red and her eyes became puffy. it's as if she was born to never cry.

but then she started telling me how other people belittled her,
how they would pull her cute little braids and how they would slap her cheeks with their big and heavy hands and how they would tell her all the mean things that any little girl would start crying about.

but she didn't cry.
she did not fight back the monsters but she definitely fought back her tears. she held all her pain inside and showed no emotion to the world.
but she's still the same energetic and happy and loud and cheery girl i know.

but the more i heard her story, the more i became afraid.

i was afraid she would end up growing like me, experiencing all kinds of harsh bullying, pain, and stabbing words, and still face the world with a poker face and continue living. i kept everything to myself and i hid in my shell and raised walls no one could climb to and no one could break into. i never told anyone the harshness of my own cruel world; how they would look at me, how they laughed at me, how they treated me, how they bullied me, and how they fucked up my mental state.

i never tried asking for help.

and that scares me about her.
for i know that every animal that is born learn their most important survival skill. but babies, what do they learn first?

yeah. they cry.
it means showing weakness and asking for help.

i was afraid my little cousin would end up like me, bottling up everything inside until i couldn't hold anything anymore and i just shatter to a million pieces, unable to cry all the pain.

no. i don't want that to happen.

i don't want another fucked up version of me.


author's note;

i give foxes-in-love full credits for the wonderful life lesson that is asking for help is a human being's first survival skill. photo can be found above (since i am using my phone).

confessions i will never say and other proses | poetry book 1 ✔Onde as histórias ganham vida. Descobre agora